Mrs Pentstemmon
by puzzles of people
Summary: Howl reacts to the news of Mrs. Pentstemmon's death.  A tribute to DWJ.


**This is a tribute to Diana Wynne Jones. She died in March, but I couldn't think of something suitible to write until now. I grew up reading her wonderful books and was very sad to learn of her passing. RIP DWJ. The world has lost a truly fantastic writer and you will be greatly missed.**

**Also, I don't own HMC, of course. And the last line is straight from the book.**

The bottom dropped out of his stomach.

Dead. How could she be dead? Howl knew that she was old and he knew that she had said that it would come soon, but still he could not fathom it. That incredible old witch, dead.

Howl slumped into the chair by the hearth, hands smoothing over his face over and over again. He didn't care that he was probably getting his impeccable skin greasy and dirty. He didn't care that he was probably giving himself worry lines. He didn't even care that his slumped posture was making him look sloppy and flaccid. Mrs. Pentstemmon was dead.

"Howl?" Calcifer said tentatively. Howl did not respond. "Where's Sophie? Shouldn't she be back from the King by now?" Howl took a deep, shuddering breath, and stood abruptly.

"Sophie! Blasted, darling Sophie! Now I shall have to go rescue her from the King's clutches, I suppose. Probably got herself in trouble by snooping too much. Always puts her nose where it shouldn't be, that woman…" He began to ramble, pacing about the room, hands running through his hair erratically, and trembling ever so slightly. He was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

"Kingsbury door!" Calcifer informed him.

"Maybe it's Sophie," Michael replied as he went to open it. A King's messenger stood in the doorway, carrying a scroll with red-and-blue royal seals dangling off it.

"A message for Wizard Howl Pendragon," said the messenger with all the appropriate flourishes. Michael looked back at Howl, who was back to slumping on the chair.

"I'll be sure it gets to him," Michael said as he took the scroll and closed the door. He took another look at Howl before he peeled off the seals. His eyes got wider as he read the contents of the message. "Oh no, Howl, you better take a look at this." Howl read the loopy, official script with blank eyes and sighed deeply when he was finished.

"My name is very black, indeed," he muttered. "Royal Wizard on top of all this!" Just then, the noises of a carriage reached the inhabitants of the castle.

"Kingsbury, again," Calcifer said. Michael shot to the door and Howl slowly followed to see Sophie descend from a carriage imprinted with the coat-of-arms of the King.

XXXXXXX

Howl thought that his clever disguise rather did justice to dear old Mrs. Pentstemmon. No one would suspect a dog of actually being a man. He trotted up the long driveway of the estate, passing the slow-moving carriages and regal black horses. He found a tree near the casket and laid down to watch the people as they made their way down the lawn.

Hunch was there, of course. The old footman had been with Mrs. Pentstemmon for years. Then came a bunch of fussy official people, people who didn't really know his teacher but were only there because she was important. And then there were her students. Some were like Mrs. Fairfax: loud nose-blowing, handkerchiefs dabbing at eyes, chattering on and on about the good old days, do you remember this's and how could I forget that's. And some were quiet, with no need to make a scene because their grief was obvious enough just by looking at them. Howl laid his head on his paws. He knew how they felt.

Soon the proceedings began. Howl couldn't seem to concentrate on what the speakers were saying. Perhaps because what they were saying didn't sound a thing like poor old Mrs. Pentstemmon. He should be the one up there, talking about her. He was her last (and arguably greatest) pupil. He was the last to see her, when he brought Sophie to her. He had hoped for two things for that meeting: to rid Sophie of that horrendous spell and to obtain his mentor's blessings for what he hoped would come to pass after this whole fiasco was over. And although only one of those things happened, he treasured that approving look in her eye as the last thing she ever gave to him.

After far too many boring and pretentious speeches, the ceremony was over and guests were allowed to come forward to say their final goodbyes. Howl waited until there were only a few people left to lope over to the casket to pay his respects. He jumped up, to the surprise of the remaining guests, and rested his paws on the edge of the coffin as he looked down on his dear teacher. She looked so pale and fragile. Not like herself at all. Mrs. Pentstemmon in life was all sharp edges and fierceness, a bit of warmth in her cheeks and a spark in her eyes. It was a shame to see her this way. If dogs could shed a tear, Howl would've.

"Well, well, Howl! What a clever disguise! I almost missed you, you know. But I knew you'd be here somewhere; you wouldn't stay away from your dear old Mrs. Pentstemmon's funeral." The Witch of the Waste stared at him with greedy eyes. She leaned down toward him and whispered, "And now I've got you!"

Howl paused a moment, readying himself, and then dashed away down the road. He thought to himself, "Just keep running, and she won't catch you. Just keep running. You're good at running away; you do it all the time! Just keep running, running." But secretly, underneath those thoughts, his resolve was growing. He would finish the Witch one day, for everything she had done to him and those around him. But especially for what she did to Mrs. Pentstemmon. He heard her chasing after him, gaining on him with each second. Howl's form began to change as he ran, and soon he was not even running, but flying high above the town.

"Brace yourself, Calcifer! She's found me!"


End file.
